


To Life

by flibbertygigget



Category: David Bowie (Musician)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, This isn't porn, This was supposed to be porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 04:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: Do you indulge in any form of worship?





	To Life

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write porn. This... ain't it. I don't know quite what it is.
> 
> Based on this interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-M6J3GC6GVk

From the moment he walked into the studio, Russell Harty was transfixed.

Makeup-white skin. Dyed hair. One glistening, tantalizing earring. And, most importantly, a voice and face and  _manner_ that seemed ethereal, celestial, like an alien or a god come down to Earth. It was all Russell could do to tear his eyes away and introduce his guest.

Throughout the interview, Russell was a mess, attacking and flirting in turn, incapable of stringing two sentences together without making a fool of himself. "Do you believe in God?" "Can you tell us about one or two of the framed ones?" And, through it all, David Bowie stayed horribly, untouchably beautiful. It wasn't until the cameras stopped rolling that bowie leaned forward and Russell felt worthy to breath in his presence.

"You're trembling," he said. Russell was finally able to look away, incapable of meeting Bowie's eyes.

"It's January."

"Mmm, but these light are all so warm." Russell's eyes were drawn to Bowie's long, restless fingers, one index finger gently stroking the other. "Tell me, Russell, do you indulge in any form of worship?"

"No." Russell felt his face burn. "I mean, yes. Yes, I do."

"Indeed. And what is it you worship, Russell?" Every time Bowie said his name he melted. "A god? A science? Or are you someone like me?"

"I'm nothing like you."

"Oh, that's obvious. You're like most of the rest of the world, so complacent, so paralyzed. You can't even fathom happiness for fear of being censured by your so-called friends. I, on the other hand... I'm desperate. I'm  _wild_. I'm one of those blessed few willing to  _live_ , willing to suck the very marrow from life until it's left satisfied, empty of its loneliness and content with its new greed."

"What the hell are you even talking about?"

"You." Bowie's tongue swept slowly over his lips. "Me."

"Are you actually saying that you... Are you for real?" Russell felt like a rabbit, like prey frozen in headlights, and the worst part was that he craved it. As Bowie reached out and squeezed his knee, pinning him as effectively as any butterfly to a card, Russell couldn't find it in himself to even think of walking away. "Are you real?"

"I am what you imagine me to be. So, yes, I could be real. If, of course, that's what you want." Russell is leaning forward too, now, a fish being reeled into Bowie's illusion. "I doubt you do, though. My fans never do. A mere man doesn't inspire fantasies, oh no. You don't want to fuck reality. No, you want Ziggy, the pansexual alien rockstar." Russell opened his mouth, trying to think of a protest, but Bowie placed one perfect finger delicately over his lips. "It's quite alright, darling. I think that Ziggy wants you as well."

"And you?" Russell almost flinched at his own voice, all breathy, keening need. "What does David Bowie want with someone like me?" Bowie's face split into a toothy grin and he winked.

"I have absolutely no idea," he said. "It's a good thing that David Bowie doesn't exist, isn't it?" Russell craned his neck as Bowie stood. "I have to get dressed for my performance now. Want to see what I have in my dressing room?" Russell shot to his feet without even thinking.


End file.
